


I Walk Beside You

by culticmyexecution



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-04-05 23:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4199049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/culticmyexecution/pseuds/culticmyexecution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Resonate inside this temple,<br/>Let me be the one who understands,<br/>Be the one to carry you<br/>When you can walk no further” (Dream Theater — I Walk Beside You)</p><p>A collection of drabbles about Dorian Pavus and the Inquisitor Darius Lavellan, their relationship, its development, their issues, the Inquisition itself, etc. The events in the fic take place during the game plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Storm Coast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The romance line with Dorian is nicely written in the game, but I consider some things to be missing, or imagine some other things slightly different. My headcanon is strong, yay!

Dorian felt sick when it was about the sea. The messy movement of water, the waves coming up and down, and the constant motion of colours and shades made him feel dizzy. The rain and the wind made the thing worse even though the place itself was quite warm. However, every day in the morning for some reason the weather became quiet, and when the sun appeared at the East, it was almost hot.

Fastening the tiny — and rather useless — belts on his left sleeve, Dorian got out of the tent he shared with the Inquisitor. He left his mantle there but the sun had already risen high enough for him to feel warm outside. There wasn’t even a weak breeze; the air was as still as it was even possible. Dorian took a deep breath and exhaled, smiling pleasantly. The place was going to be terrible soon, but at the moment it was more than nice.

The first thing Dorian saw was a pile of clothes on a boulder, behind which he believed was a bluff. After a split second, there were fair hair and a forehead visible, and then sly green eyes caught Dorian’s eyes. A hand snatched something from the pile, and the head disappeared. The mage smirked and approached the boulder, peeking. The Inquisitor stood in the water topless with his trousers rolled up high, and washed his undershirt carefully. Dorian could only see his curved spine, all covered with freckles, moles, and pale-red spots, the sharp backbone visible.

“Isn’t it cold?” Dorian asked before sitting down on the boulder, his hand slightly touching the tissue of the lying clothes.

“For me it isn’t,” Darius straightened and turned around, squeezing the undershirt. “I almost never feel cold.”

“Lucky you. When the clouds arrive and the rain starts, I won’t be very fond of leaving the tent.”

“You’re lucky, too. Today we don’t have to,” he shook the shirt in order to get rid of the surplus of water, folded it and put next to Dorian.

“Why not?”

Darius looked up at him and smiled, “We have a day-off. The main business is done, and we should wait for a report from Leliana. Then we will see if we have to stay or if we can leave.”

He took his coat, which was covered with blood and dirt, sighed, and bent, plunging the coat into water. His body was thin yet sinewy, moves were light and fast. It was perfect, Dorian thought, for a rogue. Darius was quick, sharp, and soundless, and his skill with the daggers was impressive even for Dorian who didn’t see anything special or beautiful in white arms. Usually, if it was possible, Darius dealt with small groups of enemies on his own. It took no effort and almost no time to silently cut a few throats instead of having a proper battle.

“Um, could you please fetch the knife?” Darius asked when finished with the coat. “I would be very grateful.”

“Sure,” Dorian stood up and felt a cool breeze. It was time to bundle up in a warm dark-blue mantle, he thought with a shudder.

“The one under the pillow, thanks,” Darius beamed at him. The elf’s palms and wrists were weirdly red, possibly because of the cold water, but besides his hands he didn’t seem to be freezing.

 

Dorian spent a minute wrapping himself into the mantle, then picked Darius’ pillow up and saw a beautiful small dagger. The blade was long, thin, and neatly sharpened, and had an etched ornament. Dorian took the dagger carefully and left the tent to be instantly struck by the strong wind. He could see dark clouds coming from the horizon, could almost hear them whispering, “Soon we will make everything wet, you damn northerner.” He rolled his eyes and made a few steps ahead, trying to enjoy the wind that twirled his hair ruthlessly, leaving him no chance to have a tolerable groom that day.

“Here you go,” he reached out and gave the dagger to Darius, who was now out of water and sat on the stone. The elf took it with a little smile, thanked Dorian again, and started poking around in his armour with the tip of the dagger blade.

“What are you doing?”

“There is dirt beneath the scales. When there's too much, I can't move properly. And the armour creaks. Yes, a few grains of sand are okay, but when there're many of them under each scale, it becomes a problem. I'm picking them with the blade, can't reach them with anything else.”

“Oh, I see. You're quite good about hygiene.”

“Not like other southerners, huh?” he chuckled and sent Dorian a fast look. “This is bare pragmatism, being dirty isn't convenient and gives me trouble during a fight. Like, it's not a big deal to stand in the river for a couple of minutes before going to bed, and it's nice to sleep being clean, and in my case it's better to even have no smell at all. Because, you know, try to imagine an assassin who smells like a druffalo. He can only crawl up to someone who has no nose. I personally can even be unnoticed by animals due to good hygiene.”

“I wish every other Ferelden person thought the same,” Dorian sighed dramatically before laughing. “You can't imagine how glad I am to have a kind of running water in Skyhold. Those elves knew their business.”

“Yeah, it's nice to have access to water anytime you want even though it's quite cold even for me. I wonder how they did that.”

“Some mountain spring runs across the castle's territory, perhaps. Well, everyone melts the snow anyway. But I appreciate that tiny canal in the basement.”

“I believe the servants use it for cooking,” Darius moved his hand to put the blonde strand behind his ear, and returned to clearing the armour. Dorian looked at him upside down attentively. The elf's scapula moved with every move of his right hand, dry muscles visible beneath the skin. “Won't you plunge before it becomes too cold and before the rain starts? You've got a couple of minutes,” he asked, not looking at Dorian.

“I'd _love_ to but I'll have to deal with all these belts and bows.”

“Go on. I'll do it for you.”

“Err. Okay,” Dorian answered after a few seconds of hesitation. He undressed quickly, leaving his patterned trousers on.

He bent to roll them up when heard Darius laughing, “Fine, fine, I’ll turn away, relax.”

“You’re not the one I’m worried about,” Dorian stopped halfway and raised his head to look at the Inquisitor. Darius stared at him. He had changed his position and now sat with his spine facing the sea.

“Ah, Vivienne and Cassandra are gone. They had woken up even before I did. Vivienne said they had something to deal with,” the elf shrugged, “so feel free, don’t be shy,” and he lowered his head, dealing with the armour again.

“I’m not _shy_ ,” Dorian made a wry face and got rid of his trousers, “but they might be,” the pants were next.

It was cold, and the wind was _goddamn freezing_ , the mage thought before entering the water which was warmer than he believed. He made a few careful steps, unsure of the bottom at first, but then enjoyed the pebble with his feet. When he entered the water just enough for it to hide his groin and to touch his ilium, he heard a _huh_.

“Are all the Tevinter mages in such a good shape?”

“Are all the Free Marches elves so impatient to look at a naked man?”

“I know one who is. Ginger asshole.”

Dorian turned around, feeling warm water tickling the hairs on his abdomen, “To be honest, I always believed that the Inquisitor would be serious, would be someone who never even jokes, not a funny elf that can’t wait to tease someone.”

Darius threw his hands up, “Well sorry. You might try looking for another Inquisition.” He had turned his waist in order to be able to look at Dorian. His eyes quickly examined the mage’s body — which wasn’t the first time for sure.

“Who said I didn’t enjoy this one?”

“Go and bathe, the clouds are coming,” he turned away.

The water was warm, and Dorian didn't really want to get out, but the wind showed that soon it would be not safe to swim in or even stand close to the sea, so he had to leave.

“It’s nice here in the morning,” he said, putting the mantle on his shoulders like a towel, before going to the tent to fetch a proper towel and a fresh undergarment.

“Especially when they’re out?” Darius asked and finally put the knife and the armour away.

“Well, it _is_ more peaceful when they’re gone. Don’t tell them.”

“I won’t,” he giggled. “Need a hand?”

Dorian laced his trousers and now looked sadly at the top with much more lacing to do, “Please.”

“Who makes such? This is a nightmare,” Darius murmured when tied the last lace on the back of Dorian’s top.

“This is what your pragmatism says.”

“Yes,” his cold hand accidently rubbed Dorian’s arm. He stood up and took the mage’s mantle. “It is beautiful and all, but if something happens you’ll spend years untying it.”

“I remember your clothing in Redcliffe. It was no better.”

Darius grunted and threw the mantle, covering Dorian with as if he was a birdcage.

“Hey I’m not one of Leliana’s crows!”

“Just as loud.”

The sun disappeared, and it became colder. Dorian extricated from the mantle and put it on in a right way, pretending he didn’t notice Darius’ latter words. He looked at the elf who had collected his clothes and now stood, his eyes closed, and his bare foot on the boulder. He breathed lightly, facing the cold wind, and obviously enjoyed it. It was the first time Dorian got he considered the Inquisitor to be handsome.

“And what if?” was another fast thought in Dorian’s mind but he frowned and shook his head to get rid of it. “Remember where you are and who you’re thinking about, you dumb. There’s no chance for _you_.”


	2. A letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Looking for anything?” Dorian was wandering in the yard when he noticed the Inquisitor.
> 
> “Yes. You.”

Dorian wasn't in the library, and that fact made Darius feel a bit uncomfortable. A book the mage had been reading was left on a table, with a bookmark in it. Darius couldn't resist curiosity and opened the bookmarked page without checking the name of the book. He skimmed an article about possible consequences of being affected by blood magic and closed the book with a sigh.

 

Neither was Dorian in the tavern. Not in the garden, too. It would take not much more time for Darius' palms to start sweating and soaking a letter the elf had been given by Mother Giselle. However, the notorious letter was saved by a warm voice coming from beneath when Darius was on his way up to the main hall.

 

“Looking for anything?” Dorian was wandering in the yard when he noticed the worried Inquisitor who was looking around as if had got lost.

 

“Yes. You,” Darius went down the ladder and, when realized he had sounded quite threatening, added gently, “Mind if we take a walk?”

 

Dorian tilted his head in curiosity. “My pleasure.”

 

His look caught the envelope but he didn't utter a word about that. He followed Darius to the garden which was unexpectedly empty. The green shades of numerous leaves moved actively, and the smell of flowers helped Darius relax a bit. The absence of anyone besides the two of them soothed him completely.

 

“There is something I'd like to tell you. Um. To give you, to be honest.”

 

“Huh?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. 

 

He wanted to say something but the elf didn't let him, “Before you joke or tease, this is serious. It's a letter,” he handed Dorian the envelope. 

 

Dorian's curious smile disappeared when he started reading. He frowned and clenched his teeth, “I apologize but… that's bullshit. ‘I know my son’, is he even serious? What he knows of me would barely fill a bloody thimble. This is so typical. I'm willing to bet this ‘retainer’ is a henchman, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter.”

 

“Why not bet then?” Darius asked with a faint smile.

 

Dorian smirked, “Okay, if it is a trap, you will kill everyone and bring a knocked-out me back here. You're thin but at least good at killing. Can drag me by feet if I'm too heavy. If it's not a trap, I'll send a reply with the instruction for my father on where to put his staff.”

 

“There seems,” Darius murmured, “to be bad blood between you and your family.”

 

“Interesting turn of phrase,” he laughed. “But you're correct. They don't care for my choices, nor I for theirs.”

 

Darius blinked and grinned awkwardly, “Then, shall we go there and meet that person? Where is it?”

 

“Redcliffe,” Dorian nodded and handed Darius the letter. The elf skimmed it and handed it back.

 

“I'll tell the others to get ready, we've already got all things packed for a travel,” he was about to leave but was stopped by a move of Dorian's hand.

 

“Wait… I believe we should be there alone.”

 

“Oh. Of course. I understand… We'll leave when you're ready in that case,” he paused. “Should I… go? for now?”

 

Dorian looked at him in surprise. “Why even asking me?”

 

“I'm not a tyrant, your opinion is important, too,” Darius answered, but his eyes showed that he wasn't truly sincere. Luckily for him, Dorian had turned to sit on the bench and didn't notice anything.

 

“I see. Alright, it would suck if you left a minute ago, to be honest. I have a bad tendency to reckon too much when I’m alone, and it doesn’t end well usually, so… it will be nice of you to stay. If you don’t have anything important to do, which I believe you have.”

 

“Wrong,” Darius sat next to Dorian, “I have some time to spare, and if it wasn’t for you I would spend it upstairs doing nothing.”

 

Darius turned to look at the mage, who closed his eyes and bit on his lip. The leaves threw dapples of shadow over the handsome face, the bright spots moving here and there. Darius tilted his head, examining Dorian's traits.

 

“It's nice here, isn't it?”

 

Dorian opened his eyes but closed again after a short moment. “Reminds me of my puberty.”

 

“What?” the rogue laughed.

 

“That period of time, I mean. I was thirteen, relatively tall, thin, and very arrogant. Dressed all black and gold, and still ridiculously modest. The garden was perhaps the only place where I was free. No governess, no mother, no father, no tutors, just me and silence. It was something like my own sanctuary. I used to sit there and, when I was younger, learn new spells, and then to read. It was a nice garden, you know,” he sighed.

 

“This one must be not as good as the garden of a proper Tevinter family,” Darius started and wanted to say something else but stopped when Dorian’s eyebrows pulled together. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”   
  
“No, you’re absolutely right. ‘Proper’ is such a perfect word,” he looked at Darius sadly. “We were a nice Tevinter family.”

 

“What actually happened?”

 

“Why am I here, you mean?” Darius nodded. “Well, I wasn't good enough for my family. Had some drawbacks they couldn't stand. And as a young man I was quite horrible, to be honest.”

 

“They wanted you to marry,” he smiled sadly for some reason, not looking at Dorian. “And you didn't want to. Ah, sorry,” he shivered and rubbed his right eye, the one with the scar, “none of my business.” 

 

“No, it's okay. I've told you about that, which means it's not something I want to hide from you. They wanted me to marry a person I didn't like and never actually knew, and I, of course, didn't want to. That girl was terrible. I saw so much hatred and pride in her eyes, she despised me and my family, I believe she would kill me eventually. I would give her a scion and she would get rid of me. I felt it so clearly it almost hurt to look at her. She had a scorning and threatening look. I could tell for sure that the girl would be the death of mine. I think I was afraid.”

 

“And you left.”

 

Dorian smiled with a barely visible expression of guilt, and shrugged. “You might judge me.”

 

“No, I… think I understand.”

 

“Really?”

 

“It's not very nice to leave your family, but… I know I would escape if I were you. Most people would.”

 

“Many Tevinter people don't, even if they hate it. Like, my parents loathe each other but they follow the trail. I believe I just didn't have enough courage to stay,” he said bitterly.

 

“Well, it requires some courage to flee.”

 

The mage smiled faintly. “Not that much. But thank you.”

 

“For what?” Darius raised his eyebrows in surprise.

 

“I didn’t even hope for support.”   
  
“You can’t get used to the fact that not everyone here sees you as an evil Tevinter magister who owns a hundred slaves and uses blood magic, am I right?”

 

Dorian chuckled. “And can  you  get used to the fact that almost everyone sees you as a bliss? Not as an average Dalish elf? Elves are slaves here mostly, aren't they? Can you get used to the responsibility? Doesn't it frighten you?” Dorian finished in whisper, his voice trembling. He unwillingly bent closer to Darius, staring at him with sorrow. “I can't even imagine how heavy this burden must be. I wouldn't be able to sleep a wink at night.”

 

Darius looked at him, not blinking and breathing slowly and shallowly. “I try not to think about it, especially when I lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. But yes, often I want to rush to Free Marches and stay there, this time forever,” he also moved ahead a bit. “Alright, I think,” he had held his look on Dorian for a few more seconds before he stood up, “it's time for me to do some useful stuff.”

 

He sent Dorian a weird smile and moved towards the entrance. The mage sighed and hid his face in his palms when the door closed with a loud screech.

 

“Here you are, fucked up again, well done,” he whispered.


	3. A library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are a terrible person,” Dorian whispered.
> 
> “Isn't that the part people love about me?”

“I had a bride. Well, not actually a bride… We were supposed to, um, be together, it was like, you know, an arrangement. Not married, just… together.”

 

Darius looked sadly at an already empty bottle. He couldn't speak as clear as always but he thought it wasn't enough, for it was the only effect. He shared Dorian's wish to drink into a stupor but at the moment he wasn't successful at all. The tavern was crowded, and the noise and the scent of spirit were heady, and even still he was all sober except for his tongue.

 

“Do you,” Dorian gestured sophisticatedly, trying to find a word but it seemed because of his wry face that he didn't succeed, “have such thing?”

 

He was sober, too. He was too anxious about what had happened in Redcliffe to get drunk fast. And the Ferelden wine, he thought, was too weak for him.

 

“No. Not really. It's just… We were the only youngsters there. Just the two of us. Others — there hadn't been many although — were killed because of all that stuff with the rebel Mages and with the Templars hunting them. Three children were caught by slave traders… Moreover, a guy I had known left with his sister for some reason. All too fast, everyone was gone, everyone younger than me. Elders were luckier for some reason. I wish they didn't because they instantly had it in for us. It was about, they said, saving the clan; I hope you understand what I mean. And now they're all dead, it's all useless. And it was then.”

 

“Why was it?”

 

“See, even if we had two or more children… this wouldn't help at all. My clan was always rather… isolated, they didn't like foreign blood. And even in our situation they refused to connect with another clan and thought that using us would be better. So there would be those two, brothers, or sisters, and what would they do?”

 

He sighed. He looked very tired, and Dorian believed he was. They two had disappeared almost simultaneously right after a raid without any explanation to Solas and Cassandra, and later found each other at the entrance of the tavern, both willing to get drunk and both feeling a bit awkward after what had happened the other day in the library.

Darius got rid of the awkwardness quickly, though still felt uneasy because of the news. It was good, Dorian had thought, that Darius had enough mental strength to try to feel relaxed and not to give up even when received such news.

 

“Weren't you happy with her? It seems you had known each other for many years but you sound really bitter talking about all that.”

 

“No, I wasn't happy. Yes, I'd known her well, for my whole life. But I never really liked her.”

 

Dorian smirked, but when got it was quite irrelevant, winced and whispered something in Tevene.

 

“That seems even worse than a marriage of convenience, don't you think so?” he said, a bit hesitant if it was okay to keep talking on that topic.

 

“Well, that's quite the same. Still better than… how've you called it? Breeding? Never mind. It wasn't creating a perfect mage to put into the Magisterium or something. It was like a noble aim, they said, to give birth, not giving a damn about our abilities or family, to prevent the clan from extinction… yeah, but… I was against till the end. I didn't see any nobility in giving birth in despair to raise desperate unwanted children just in order to calm those old idiots.”

 

You’ve never felt home there, have you? You didn’t love the place, did you? You hated them for what they wanted to make you be, right? 

 

“So you were just… put together because of their discouragement, right?”

 

“Kind of,” Darius' shoulder jerked. “Have I ever told you how I came to the Inquisition in the first place?”

 

“I believe you haven't.”

 

“And are you interested?”

 

“I'm all ears,” Dorian obviously liked that phrase.

 

“Deshanna, the Keeper, sent me to the Conclave to find out what the Mages and the Templars would do about the war. The war really injured the clan, I've already mentioned that. We would move one direction or another — depending on the decision of the Conclave — where we would be safer. Deshanna said that the whole situation was dangerous for Sula and her baby. I just had to eavesdrop. And here I am.”

 

He sighed in irritation, curved his lips unpleasantly and stood up to fetch for a new bottle of wine. Dorian waited patiently for his return.

 

“So you  had a child?”

 

“No. Sula didn't have enough time,” Darius filled the mugs. “It should've happened a month later or something.”

 

He sent Dorian a look above the rim, sipping wine.  Don't you dare say you're sorry.

 

“Cassandra said you wanted to come back there. Was it untrue?”

 

“No, no it wasn't. I… I got too used to the place, to people. And I'd never really seen anything besides our tiny village in The Free Marches even though we moved all the time. I tried to assure myself that we were doing the right thing. And at first I was confused here. Now I'm not. So  now it is untrue, and not because I have nowhere to come back. I think now I understand that in fact I always hated the place and the way of living there, and I didn’t approve what they made to me and Sula in front of their own oblivion. A part of me is glad to be finally free from them. As if making us have intercourse would save them, for fuck’s sake.”

 

Dorian wanted to say something but stopped himself and hid his face in his hands for a dozen of moments.

 

“This is bullshit,” he finally whispered.

 

“Quite. It makes me angrier when I think about all that ‘marry this girl because you have to’, so can we please discuss anything more pleasant?”

 

“I… of course… um. On what happened yesterday…” Dorian took his hands off his face and looked at the elf gently and with a bit of fear.

 

“Going to say you're sorry?” Darius frowned.

 

“Should I be?”

 

“Suppose not.”

 

“You suppose?”

 

“Wine makes me less sure.”

 

“Huh.”

 

Darius laughed at the mage’s facial expression. “Drink yours. You were the one who wanted to.”

 

“I did. And I do,” he obediently took his mug and drank a bit. “So you are less sure now.”

 

“Yes, easier for me to think about it when I'm sober.”

 

“That's rather interesting. Usually it's the opposite.”

 

“Oh please don't tell me it makes me special.”

 

“I'm not  that bad. And this wine is.”

 

“Don't like it? Neither do I, actually.”

 

“How about we leave?”

 

Darius nodded and stood up. “I guess we don't really need to pay here,” he said in a slightly questioning tone.

 

“Tsk tsk, you have bad impact on me, Lord Inquisitor.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Your wish is my command,” he burst into laughter and got up, too.

 

“As if you were going to pay,” Darius smiled cunningly, opening the door and letting Dorian out before leaving the tavern himself.

 

“I am an honest visitor of Ferelden who considers paying in a tavern to be his duty,” said Dorian dramatically, obviously overacting, and even more obviously not being truly honest. He smiled wider when heard Darius' laughter which had shown the elf felt slightly better. Despite him saying he hadn't really cared about Sula and other members of Lavellan family he was evidently upset and struck by the news. It wasn't hard for the mage to cheer him up a bit, and he did his best.

 

“Let's go somewhere.”

 

“What do you prefer?”

 

“Silence,” Darius became thoughtful for a dozen of seconds, slowing down. “War table?”

 

“But,” Dorian started in surprise, “you have the Council there. That's, like, a private territory.”

 

“If I don't call they don't come. And it didn't bother you in Haven. Come on.”

 

“You sure?”

 

Darius groaned and took Dorian's hand, pulling him. “Okay, I know another quiet place.”

 

Not only was it dark but Darius didn't really care if anyone could see them. People would talk, he thought, so what, what would it change? They wouldn't lose their faith and trust, no, and he knew that.

 

“Not your quarters, I hope.”

 

“You should hope for the opposite,” he opened the door of the main hall and walked fast across it, not letting the mage's hand. Luckily, there was no one.

 

“Hey I don't know what you think about—”

 

“Shut up,” Darius whispered, laughing. He opened the door that led to Josephine's office and to the war table, and turned left. “Or I'll tell Sera something about you that will make your life a living nightmare. And it won't certainly be truth.”

 

They went down the ladder and passed by a painting in a dark hall, stopping every time they heard a noise.

 

“Why are we doing it this way, refresh my memory?” the mage whispered almost without a sound.

 

“There,” he pointed, “is the kitchen. Servants are… well, supposed to be there. I don't want them to know where I am. Let's go,” he opened a heavy wooden door, which lead… somewhere. Dorian couldn't see anything, especially after the door had closed behind him. Darius squeezed his hand. “Not the part I've overthought.”

 

“Let me,” with his free hand, Dorian made an exquisite move, and a small red sphere lit in his palm, floating a few inches above it.

 

“Impressive.”

 

“Not really,” he threw the sphere up and flicked it, letting it float higher in the air and light the room. “This is quite simple.”

 

“Still beautiful,” Darius stared at the small light, smiling, his imperfect white teeth bared, and his lower lip drawn ahead just a bit in a funny childish way. He lowered his look gazing at Dorian, head still raised. “This place might interest you.”

 

The mage, with a move of his index, sent the sphere ahead, leaving him and the elf in the darkness but lighting the shelves.

 

“A library?”

 

“Found it about a week ago. Thought you would like it. It's been untouched for maybe centuries, like, no one was interested.”

 

Dorian still felt his gaze. Possibly, Darius could see him in the dim red light. Dorian only saw the dark silhouette.

 

“I will check this place.”

 

“Later?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“Not now?” he was whispering again for some reason when Dorian beckoned the light back. Yes, the elf was still looking at him.

 

“Not now. Shit,” he snapped when the light disappeared. “They don't live too long.”

 

He was about to create another one but was stopped by a cold thin hand touching his cheek, and a worried voice reaching his ears. “Are you okay?”

 

“Why should I not be?” Dorian said with a weak laughter.

 

“Dorian,” the hand moved to the back of his neck. “I'm serious. Your father…”

 

“Is nothing comparing to your clan being dead,  Darius ,” he hissed.

 

“Ah, this,” his thumb rubbed the dark skin and the voice became thoughtful. “I don't think I feel really sad about that.”

 

“Obviously you do feel, even though you didn’t like them.”

 

“Am I so obvious?”

 

“For me you are.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Darius put another hand on Dorian's cheekbone, fingertips moving as if in search. They stopped at the mage's lips, shuddering.

 

“You know you are making those bloody rumours true right now, don't you?”

 

“Don't you repeat my words,” the elf whispered and then moved ahead, at first covering his own fingers with his lips and then after a fast withdrawal of the hand kissing Dorian gently and carefully.

 

“You are a terrible person,” Dorian whispered after a few long yet very tender kisses in pitch-black darkness, making the same move of the hand and creating a new red glowing sphere.

 

“Isn't that the part people love about me?”

 

“How many people have seen this part?”

 

“Even you haven't seen it,” he smirked.

 

“Oh Maker's breath,” Dorian said indignantly but then laughed, unable to stop staring at the elf.

 

Darius was imperfect and, by all standards, not really handsome. His teeth, his scars, the red spots on his slightly hollow cheeks, his stiff fair hair, short light eyelashes and his thin body — all these seemed so non-ideal but all these were the things Dorian liked so much. Darius was beautiful with all the drawbacks of his appearance.

 

“By the way, calling me by my name suits you more than by Inquisitor or whatever else. Actually it suits  me  more.”

 

“There should always be subordination, you know.”

 

“Then we suck at it.”

 

“You don’t say.”

 

They chuckled, and then the sphere vanished again.

 

“Wait, let me try,” Darius clenched his left fist, and bright green light came through his fingers. “This will work,” he opened his hand, lighting the room much better than the sphere had done.

 

“This mark seems to be more and more useful with each passing day.”

 

“Yes, being a light is of course better than closing rifts in the Veil.”

 

“You are a sarcastic wicked man.”

 

“Of course I am. Why are you here then?” Darius smiled cunningly and cuddled Dorian with one hand, clinging to him. “Why do you do all these silly things if I'm an asshole unable to maintain subordination?”

 

The elf was weirdly cold, Dorian thought. At first he had believed only Darius's hands were cool but after that close contact he felt that the whole body was much colder than his own.

 

“Don't you feel freezing?”

 

“Ah. No, I'm alright. I've always been this cold,” he didn't step back, gazing at Dorian and breathing lightly, his left hand bent to enlighten the room. “So. We were going to find a place to talk, weren't we?”

 

“We… found it. But we're not actually… talking.”

 

“Is it uncomfortable for you?”

 

“No, it's just… Shall we sit down?”

 

They both actually felt a bit awkward but Darius just couldn't stop teasing Dorian. Being so close excited him, and obviously excited Dorian, however for some reason made them quite tentative.

 

“Okay,” the elf sighed and set Dorian free, looking around in search for a seat. There were a chair and a table, and Darius chose the table. Everything was covered with dust and spider webs.

 

Dorian sat in the chair, looking at Darius from beneath. “What was it we wanted to talk about? Bad relationship experiences? My story isn't really interesting.”

 

“As if mine is. Go on, it was your offer.”

 

“It wasn't… ugh, I hate you sometimes. Seriously, why do we need to discuss anything like this?”

 

“I'd like to know you better.”

 

“Well that's not the part of my life I would enjoy talking about.”

 

“I'll rephrase… how did you find out you ‘enjoy the company of men’?”

 

“For Maker's sake… Are you serious?” Dorian snapped, frowning.

 

“Dumb questions by a dumb elf.”

 

“You're not dumb.”

 

“My questions are.”

 

“Well  that is true.”

 

“So?”

 

“So what?”

 

“Have you known it for your whole life, or maybe you had attempts, which ended up not well?”

 

Dorian laughed and rubbed his forehead with the tip of his index, probably thinking. “I'd never even thought about that until a girl from a good family — would've been almost a perfect match for me, ironically — offered a marriage. I was fifteen, maybe. Maybe a bit more, and so was she. My father said yes to me, and there I was, waiting, not sending a reply, quite humble at first. She luckily changed her mind. And when I was about eighteen I understood that I couldn't have done it anyway, that women were absolutely not… my area of interest. You see, nothing interesting. And what about you? No, wait. How have we ended like this at all? Why do you spend time with me? You had Sula, even though you said you hadn't liked her.”

 

“I spend time with you because I enjoy your company, obviously. And why did you mention Sula?”

 

“It's just…”

 

“Oh, I see,” Darius moved his hand to light Dorian's face to see it better. “I like you but I wasn't sure about how it's considered in Tevinter. Wasn't sure you wouldn't punch me in the face,” he laughed. “There hasn't ever been any restriction about such relationship among my clan and the nearest ones, but it didn't happen there at all, at least not when I was there. So we didn't think about it, but I believe that if we weren't in such a bad situation at that moment, I would be, um, free to bind my life with anyone I had wanted to. I didn't know if it was considered bad here or in Tevinter or wherever else, so I didn’t tell you.”

 

“But what had happened yesterday changed your mind, right?”

 

“It showed me that despite my appearance I still have a chance,” he smiled disarmingly.

 

“You stupid elf, there's nothing wrong with your appearance.”

 

Darius raised his eyebrows but then, when Dorian suddenly took the elf's left hand and touched the back of it with his lips, he gasped, and the green light became brighter.

 

“Won't it open a Rift if you become too… excited?” Dorian chuckled, his lips rubbing the skin as he was speaking.

 

“I wouldn't be so sure the mark can't do such a thing.”

 

“Shall we find out?” he pulled Darius’ hand, making him bend, and kissed him again.

 


	4. The Fallow Mire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, let's just hope I won’t die,” Darius opened one eye, peeking at Dorian.

It was wet, it was dirty and cold, it was dark. Darius couldn’t see well with the mark on his left hand being the only source of light he had besides the sky which glowed dim green. There was pitch-black water around him, everywhere, as if he stood in a giant knee-deep puddle. It smelled bad, like rotten nugs' bodies smell, he thought with disgust and a weird feeling under his tongue. He couldn’t breathe normally, and he wanted to get away from the water, but after quick examination he found he wouldn’t be able to do that. The black glassy surface seemed to be endless.

“So cold,” he said to himself, and wanted to lace his clothes tighter but when he touched his coat it felt sticky, and the tissue felt like raw dough, it melted under his fingers, and the morsels of it dropped with a disgusting swat. “Oh Maker,” he shook his hand with aversion and sighed. He shivered when saw a cloud of steam coming from his mouth. There was something wrong with it, something that made him blink, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw a green tissue of a tent.

Darius moaned, for he immediately felt pain in every single joint of his body. It was freezing even though he could feel a blanket or even a few ones, and could hear a rattle of fire. There was a weird feeling in his abdomen, as if someone had put a hand through flesh and was slowly moving the organs inside with hard cool fingers. Darius felt dizzy when tried to sit up, and fell back with another moan. He was obviously ill.

He moved the coverings a bit to cover his face up to his nose, and found that at the top of the pile there was a mantle, one of Dorian's favourite — for the warmest one. Darius smiled faintly, being not really able to enjoy that fact or to tease the mage in his mind, and closed his eyes. It would be better to sleep, he knew, for during slumber one always heals faster. 

When he woke up again, even despite his hair being soaked with sweat and stuck to his forehead, he thought he felt a bit better. He turned his head and saw someone's spine, which was weirdly grey. Darius tried to focus but the image remained vague no matter how hard he tried. He fuffed in annoyance, and the person turned around.

“Good morning. Evening, actually. How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“Well, you do look blue around the gills,” Dorian smirked and rolled up the sleeves of his grey shirt, moving to sit more comfortable.

“A shirt?” Darius smiled weakly and closed his eyes. His head was as if cloven, it hurt so bad he could hear his blood pumping and even that quiet sound was painful. He moaned, putting his hand on his forehead.

“Is it such a surprise I have those? Come on, let me help you,” Dorian touched the elf’s elbow, making him lower his hand, and put something wet and cold instead of a hot shivering palm. Darius sighed with a slight relief, his forehead not burning that much anymore.

“I thought you only have fashionable clothes.”

“Get lost,” he laughed. “Now. What parts of your body hurt? Anything specific?”

“No, every fucking inch does… Am I the only one lucky here?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, hope I won’t die,” Darius opened one eye, peeking at Dorian who was busy with the blankets. “What're you doing?”

“You might be poisoned, I even think this is the reason. Ate something bad — or someone intentionally gave you spoiled food. I understand that it would be too risky, for you might have given food to someone else, but you know, those idiots can do more reckless things. So, I want you to sit, come on,” he gestured.

Darius obediently sat up, trying to ignore dizziness. Dorian put a bowl on his knees, taking the fallen tissue that had been on the elf's forehead before. “Shall I leave? I guess you know what you've got to do.”

“Only if you think you're too sensitive, dear,” Darius took a deep breath and bent upon the bowl. “Fuck, I feel so bad I won't even need to—” he wasn't able to finish, for a sudden gag reflex interrupted his speech.

Dorian squinted, “The Almighty Inquisitor, vomiting in a tent, as helpless as a child, what a plot for a song, don't you think?”

“What's my share?”

“None. Sera didn't get any for that catchy song.”

“Then I'm not in. I believe you may take it,” he gave Dorian the bowl which he immediately put aside. Then Darius lay down again with a sigh.

“You don’t usually swear, by the way,” the mage noticed.

“I don’t usually feel like an egg being roasted.”

“My personal omelette.”

“Screw you.”

Dorian beamed gently and replaced the tissue on Darius’ forehead. “Damn, it becomes warm quickly. I think I’ll need to make another one.”

“No, leave it. I feel better.”

“Than you did? Of course you do, the fever’s become not that bad. But you’re still burning. Maybe you want anything to eat?”

“No… I feel sick even when I just think about food. For how long have I slept?”

“You blacked out yesterday evening. Don't you remember?”

“Not really.”

Dorian shook his head.

“After the meal you were going to harvest elfroot but you passed out on your way. You also had said before that that you'd felt quite bad and that a stroll would've been good for you.”

“It wasn't, huh? At least no one besides me is sick. Hey, I told you, leave it,” he mumbled, when Dorian took the wet tissue again. “I'm okay if it just lies here warm.”

“It makes no use if it's warm.”

“Don’t put it on then.”

“Darius,” Dorian sighed. “Don’t be whimsical.”

The elf frowned, “I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. Here,” Dorian bent and pecked Darius' forehead before placing a refolded tissue there again. “I'd like you to sleep.”

“I'm not a child, Dorian,” he murmured resentfully, but then chuckled. “Alright, mommy, I'll try to,” he obediently closed his eyes. “I hope you won't get infected because of me.”

“I haven't yet. Relax,” he stood up and took the bowl, Darius guessed by the sounds. Then there was a swish of the tent's tissue, and Darius was alone.

 

A few hours later Dorian woke him with a touch on his shoulder, two of three blankets folded to bare the upper half of the body. 

“Good morning again. How're you?”

“Thirsting…” Darius asked with a cracking voice, sitting up.

“And besides?” the mage gave him a flask of water.

“Normal, I guess,” he replied after drinking and clearing his throat.

“You still have a fever, but it's not severe, a day more here and you'll be able to go on. At least I think so.”

“Any correspondence, then? It will be a boring day if I don't find any stuff to deal with.”

“Yes, a few letters are waiting for you, I'll bring them later. The others — if you're interested — are out dealing with the remainders of hurlocks. Oh,” he raised his head on a sound of rain starting, “oh not again. Why does it have to rain all the time?”

“To make you suffer, you evil northerner. Wait. You hear it?”

“What?” Dorian had kept his ears open for a while but shook his head, “Nothing.”

“There's someone. An animal, maybe,” Darius wanted to raise but was stopped by Dorian’s gesture. The mage took his staff and, after a suspicious glare at Darius, left the tent, not caring about the cold shower outside.

 

Now Dorian could hear someone making careful steps not far from the camp. Their feet hit the dirt every now and then, and after what felt a minute the look of the stranger became palpable for the mage. He paid no attention now for his shirt being soaked, and the freezing wind, and the smell of the mire—the arrow thrust a few inches beyond his feet, and he instantly sent a ball of fire to catch the attacker. It didn’t hit the mark, but the sound of recessive steps was relieving. Listening carefully, Dorian bent, and before he even touched the arrow, he had recognised it. Panic started to grow inside him.

_“What the hell are the Tevene archers doing here?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a native speaker, so any corrections that you seem to be fair are welcomed, for I want my writing to improve and to be appropriate. Thank you in advance.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a native speaker, so any corrections that you seem to be fair are welcomed, for I want my writing to improve and to be appropriate. Thank you in advance.


End file.
